


Oblivion

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Sam nor Daniel can have what they want. But they can have each other. Probably Season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> Isn't it interesting that the first SG-1 fic I ever wrote was unhappy Sam/Daniel? Posted Feb. 1, 2006. :).

"Daniel."

He twists in his bunk, seeing a blurry silhouette framed in the open door, in the bright light from the hall. He doesn't know what time it is. It's got to be late, but he doesn't have his watch on. The hallway lights never switch off under the mountain, even in the middle of the night, a time when people sleepwalk through their thoughts, the light hurting their eyes.

He wonders how Sam knew to find him in here, wonders that she noticed he had not bothered to go home, being too tired to drive, to think, to type, or read for another minute. When he'd run out of focus for working, he had turned to the temporary oblivion of sleep. That was sufficient for now. He was all too well acquainted with the more permanent sorts of oblivion. He'd wanted a familiar, anonymous bunk, the anonymous subterranean dark of this familiar place. He'd shambled along the halls from his lab to the first available bunk room, and fallen asleep almost as soon as he hit the mattress.

Now, as Sam stands in the doorway of his single, he wonders what's up, some potential emergency? He reaches for his glasses. Then he stops, lying still, hand outstretched, because she's not waiting for him to get up. She's shut the door and come closer. She's pushing his shoulder and climbing into bed, warm whipcord body pressing close, warm mouth, warm tear-streaked cheeks. Warm skin against his. It's been so long since skin, so long.

"I disabled the camera," she whispers, and those are the only words either of them speaks.

_Of course you would,_ he thinks, and those are pretty much his last coherent thoughts while the night lasts.

Morning. His body knows it's time to wake, although the dark in the room is the same, excepting the revived red dot of the security camera. And Daniel wakes alone, twisted in his half-removed clothing. It's time for coffee, for the diurnal end of every temporary oblivion. The workday begins, with its briefings and reports. Through all the day's business, in this odd, calm interval between missions, he and Sam both watch Jack, and not each other.

They both, this day and every day, listen to Jack, attend to Jack, obey Jack. And Daniel may not have anticipated her timing, or the surprise of his silent, eager acquiescence, but he does comprehend, without ever having to meet Sam's despairing, professional gaze, the why of her coming to him. He understands the attraction of familiar, temporary oblivion; understands, perfectly, why it finally happened.

end.


End file.
